


Walls of Stone, Chapter Eleven

by ElderberryWine



Series: Far From Home [13]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:46:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElderberryWine/pseuds/ElderberryWine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fellowship finds that there are no good choices, but some may be more dire than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walls of Stone, Chapter Eleven

 

            The sun never seemed to find its way down into these ravines, with their sheer rocky sides.  It had been several days since they had had to retreat from Caradhas, yet they still had not regained the warmth, nor the camaraderie, with which they had left Rivendell.  Their escape from the icy slopes of the great mountain had been precipitous, but what had been a shock to all of them, save perhaps the wizard, was the realization that it was not only the wild beasts, nor the known agents of Sauron, which stood to prevent their success.  Instead, even the most ancient forces of Middle Earth itself had cause, for whatever reason, to oppose them.  It was a disheartened company indeed that silently gathered at the campsite at the base of the mountain, which they had left in good spirits only four days prior.

            The hobbits mutely fell in to helping Sam set up a campfire, and Legolas, with a silent nod to the others, accompanied by Aragorn, set off to look for game.  Gimli fetched firewood, and Boromir searched for a source of water as a matter of course.  Gandalf, ignoring the evening preparations completely, sat on a stone and puffed fiercely at his pipe, staring into the darkening land beyond their sheltered nook, and none of the company was brave enough to approach him.  When the wind-chilled darkness closed around their small campfire, Legolas and Boromir took the first watch as Aragorn and Gandalf left the campsite for a muted, albeit intense, conference toward the far side of the clearing.  Aragorn could be seen shaking his head with a worried frown as the wizard muttered something tersely to him, and then drew vehemently on his pipe.  The four hobbits, left alone with Gimli, gave them a glance and then turned their backs as they sat with their toes towards the crackling flames.  Ill news would come soon enough, and there was no need to ask for it early.

            Finally, as the flames began to die down, Frodo drew himself up to his feet and gave a tired stretch.  “Let me give you a hand with the cleanup, Sam,” he yawned, “and then we should really call it a night.  I’m not sure where we are off to tomorrow, but I don’t think Strider likes the plan much, so I’m not exactly anticipating anything pleasant.”

            Sam stood up as well, picking up the pot in which he had prepared their dinner as he did so.  “I‘d be that tired, meself, but I need to make sure Bill is set for the night first.  We’d have been in a right nasty spot without him, on that mountain, after all.”

            “Absolutely,” Pippin agreed, standing as well and wrapping a blanket around himself.  “Let me give you a hand, Sam.  Bill has been extremely obliging, I must say, and I believe I owe him an apple.  My father would be more than happy to have him in our stable, should you care to part with him when we get back home.”

            “ ‘Tis kind of you, to be sure,” Sam chuckled, as he walked to the edge of the circle of camplight with Pippin, “but I’m thinking that we might be startin’ a stable of our own.  What do you think, Frodo?”

            “Since I don’t expect that you’ll be letting Bill go anytime soon, that sounds lovely, Sam,” Frodo gave him a fond smile.  “If that beast isn’t completely under your spell, I’ve certainly never seen the like.”

            The dwarf shifted a bit at this point, and Frodo immediately turned back to him with a glance of apology.

            “Tell me, Gimli,” he sat back down next to him, along with Merry, who had been watching the exchange with almost concealed amusement, beside the dying embers of the fire.  “What’s all this about Moria, then?  Is this a dwarvish land to which Gandalf is referring?  I’m afraid I know so very little of the world outside of the Shire.”

            “Indeed it is,” rumbled the dwarf, taking a hearty draw on his long-stemmed pipe.  “The greatest kingdom of our kind; or at least, it once was.  A glorious world beneath the mountains with soaring caverns and great halls without number.  Glittering with gems and gilded with all the finest of metals, or so I’ve been told.  It was there that the most precious metal of all was discovered.  Mithril, that would be, and nothing more rare, nor harder, yet light as gossamer.”

            Frodo gave the slightest of shivers as Gimli spoke, and felt as if the dwarf’s perceptive eye had fallen on him, but tried his best to remain nonchalant.  “Sounds like a magnificent place, indeed.  But why is Gandalf so apprehensive?  After all, your kin are our allies.  What have we to fear?”

            Gimli suddenly looked away, off into the darkness that surrounded them.  “It has always been the curse of our kind,” he murmured with a certain bitterness, and then gave a rueful glance towards his companions.  “There are rumors,” he stated flatly, “that those who lived in Moria awoke that which lives in the deep.”

            “The deep what?” asked Merry, trying to puzzle out Gimli’s words.  “Was it some sort of dragon, then?”

            Gimli shook his head sharply.  “Ach, dragons, those we could deal with,” he answered, a trifle disparagingly.  “They are great scaly beasts, to be sure, but naught more than that.  No, this was something much more fearsome than a dragon, or at least, that is the news that reached us.  But any more than that, I’d not know.  ‘Tis been ten years and more since Balin and his followers left for Moria, and there’s not a word that has been heard from them since five years ago.”

            “Balin?” asked Frodo curiously.  “That is never the same Balin whom Bilbo knew?”

            “ ‘Tis indeed,” Gimli nodded.  “He’s my uncle, so certainly I should know.”

            “Why, I remember him coming to Bag End,” exclaimed Frodo, in a sort of wonder.  “A great favorite of Uncle Bilbo’s, and a kindly and gentle sort.  I remember him very well.  And you have not heard from him, you say?”

            “Not a word,” the dwarf shook his head sadly.  “Gandalf is properly concerned about that cursed place, if you’d ask my opinion, yet here we are, heading right for it.”

            “Perhaps Boromir has been right,” Merry sifted uneasily at the dwarf’s declaration.  “The road south may be the more obvious, but certainly the other options have not, up to now, proven to be much better.”

            “Well, Gandalf always knows best,” Frodo rose, speaking with a quiet conviction.  “I’d leave this sort of matter into his and Strider’s hands, myself.  Here are Sam and Pippin, and we may as well get our rest.  No doubt tomorrow will be a long day as well, and there’s no point in worrying over what might come.”

 

&&&&&

 

 

            The next morning, a chilled grey one, found the Fellowship leaving the slopes of the hills behind for an increasingly high walled gorge.  A small steam ran at its center, fed partially by the snows of the mighty mountains to the west, but the cliffs soon ran so high on either side that the sun, aloof and wan though it was, only reached them at the height of noon.  And in both the morning, and once again near dusk, the frosty fog rose off of the water, and enveloped the party in a dank, muffling shroud of condensation.  They walked slowly, heads down, as if to some grim end, though none save Gandalf, and perhaps Aragorn, could have said what that end was.

            The four hobbits walked at the center of the company, grateful for their wary and vigilant companions.  Merry and Pippin, just behind Gandalf and Aragorn, were subdued and hand-in-hand, and with no thought of lingering for any meal in this inhospitable land.  Frodo and Sam were just behind them, Sam leading Bill and Frodo following, with a reassuring hand on Bill’s rough back.  The pony, indeed, had been showing signs of a nervous restlessness, which had made all the hobbits uneasy as well.  They had grown to have a healthy respect for Bill’s shrewd pony sense, and could not help but admit to themselves that the path down which Gandalf was leading them was not to any of their likings either.  Yet, there being no alternative for the moment, they glumly trudged through the damp and frosty mud, with Gimli, Boromir and Legolas following to their rear.

            Merry’s keen eye saw the markings first.  Reaching out before him, he cautiously tugged at the coarse sleeve of Gandalf’s robe.  “Is that some sort of inscription?” he murmured hesitantly, pointing to high above them, near the top of the cliff wall.  The dusk was coming on fast, but once Merry pointed it out, the rest could see it as well.  There were runes, immediately recognizable to the company as dwarvish, carved elaborately into the stone, but they had been broken by time and overgrown with black moss.  Gandalf immediately motioned Gimli forward, and the two travelers stared at the cryptic message for several minutes.

            “ ‘Land of’, I believe,” Gimli spoke at last, “and I think that the last one is ‘King’.”

            “I believe you are right,” Gandalf confirmed, still staring high above them in the grey light.  “And that might be some sort of arrow below.  It appears to be a signpost.  We must not be far off now.”

            “There’s something else, though,” Gimli was straining to see before the light was gone.  “Something more scratched into the wall than carved.  See there below?”

            “Yes, I do see that,” Gandalf agreed, peering more closely.

            “I can only see two runes,” Gimli commented, softly.  “One is ‘tell’, and the other ‘gone’.”

            There was silence from the company at that revelation, and Sam could have sworn that Gandalf had turned pale for a moment.  At last he spoke softly.  “There is much danger on the road that lies before us; I will not hide that from any of you.  Our one chance lies in a quick and unnoticed passage.  If we are successful, however, we will gain the advantage, and will be far closer to where we need to be.  But if any of you,” and his eyes turned to the hobbits briefly before passing on to Boromir, “should wish to chose another road, I would not reproach you, and would wish you the best of fortune.”

            Frodo did not hesitate.  With a proud lift of his head, he sought out Gandalf’s gaze and held it.  “It is you I would follow, Gandalf, no matter the danger.  We hobbits have not left the Shire in search of comfort and safety, nor any sureties at all.  I would trust your judgment now, as I always have.”

            Gandalf bowed his head, and an unmistakable look of pain quickly washed across it.  Yet, in a moment, it was as if it had never been, as Aragorn calmly stepped up to his side, and giving him a steady glance, spoke softly.  “The time for doubting our path has long since passed.  The question now is where we can best make our camp this night, for that is close upon us.  And if any wish to change their course, they have this night in which to decide.  Tomorrow we shall continue on.”

 

&&&&&

 

 

            As luck would have it, it was the dwarf and the elf upon whom the duty of first watch fell that night.  Gandalf had gone, as he usually did, an occurrence so common by now that none thought to wonder where.  The hobbits had, as was their custom, disappeared from sight in the cold night under as many cloaks and blankets as they could manage, and Aragorn was propped in a sitting position nearby against a leafless grey-barked tree, his head fallen forward on his chest and apparently asleep.  Boromir was curled on the ground on the opposite side of the still glowing embers of their small campfire.  He appeared to be sleeping as well, but Gimli occasionally caught of glimpse of his eyes glowing in the fading red light, and knew that he was yet awake.  This thought did not make him feel at ease, and so he found a boulder on which to sit that afforded him a view of the campsite as well as the surrounding vicinity.

            Legolas had observed this, but made no comment.  He stood, leaning gracefully against the trunk of a withered pine, as if it were the most comfortable of positions, and stared up at the top of the ravine wall, where the runes were still faintly visible in the light of the thin rising moon.

            “It would appear that someone was leaving a message,” he noted casually, glancing over to the dwarf after a long period of silence, “which would mean that someone was departing Moria, I should imagine.  And yet your folk heard nothing from Balin’s party?  Have they not been concerned?”

            “Hmph,” Gimli commented with a dismissive shake of his head.  “We aren’t much for calling on one another.  Only Ori and Nori had been going back and forth much.  I suppose time just slipped away before we realized that it had been awhile since we had heard word from them.”

            “I can appreciate that,” Legolas gave a wry smile.  “My father has been meaning to send me to Rivendell for quite awhile, but time went by and somehow it’s been a hundred years or so.”  His youthful face remained politely agreeable, but Gimli was sure that his own abrupt start of surprise, at the unexpected reminder of the fundamental difference between his companion of the moment, and the rest of the Fellowship, had not gone unnoticed.

            Annoyed by this, he fell into a pointed silence, but Legolas’ words had begun an unaccustomed chain of thought, and eventually he decided to forgive, for the moment, the elf’s faintly superior air.  There was a long watch ahead of them, after all, and a bit of conversation would certainly help pass the time more enjoyably.  So he gave in to personal curiosity, and with an unconsciously hesitant clearing of his throat, asked, “So.  If you wouldn’t mind such a very personal question, how old are you, anyway?”

            Legolas, who had been dreamily gazing at the surrounding moonlit cliffs as though there were nothing in all the world he rather contemplate, turned to Gimli at this question with a now unconcealed amused smile.  “Oh, it’s rather difficult to give a precise number of years, one does tend to forget such details, but I suppose seven thousand years would be about right, give or take a century or two.”

            Gimli gave up any thought of disguising his reaction to that response, and stared at the preternaturally youthful elf with unabashed wonder.  “And yet you are young for an elf, that I know,” he said slowly, nearly to himself.  “Are you never bored with it all, then?” he continued, staring at the elf and shaking his head as he tried to imagine such an existence, and failing utterly.

            “Bored?” Legolas gave what was nearly a chuckle at the thought.  “Fortunately, that state is not a failing of our race, or our situation would be indeed regrettable.  But the sun rises each day, and every morning is new, and there is always a new wonder to behold.  Such as myself having this conversation with you.  I am quite sure neither of us would have expected such an experience a few weeks ago.”

            Gimli couldn’t help a short laugh of his own at the elf’s response.  “Aye.  That’d be true enough.”  Encouraged by his companion’s amiability, he continued in a suddenly more serious vein.  “I don’t mind telling you, indeed, that I’m troubled by the way Gandalf’d be taking us.  What do you know of the state of Moria these days?  After all, my folk and yours are both from Mirkwood, so I’ve no doubt that you are aware of the rumours of evil that we have heard.”

            Legolas’s face grew suddenly quite serious, and he aimed a penetrating look at the dwarf.  “It is the Balrog of which you speak, is it not?” he said softly, and there was no question in his voice.  He gave a slight warning shake of his head at Gimli’s involuntary gulp of fear, and continued.  “I will not mention the name again, as I see our thoughts are the same.  Keep in mind, my young friend, that only the hobbits are unaware of that of which we speak, and I would have them remain in ignorance as long as is possible.”

            Before Gimli could quite decided if the elf had been condescending or not, Boromir rolled onto his side, and casting aside his blanket, was quickly up on his feet.  “I suspect that your thoughts are also where mine are,” he murmured softly, joining them as they watched him approach with impassive faces.  “The wizard leads us down strange paths, does he not?”

            “Strange paths are all that may remain to us in these troubled times,” the elf responded coolly.  But the man shook his head with a frown.

            “That all depends on the destination,” he replied shortly.  “And I, for one, am not all that eager to have our mission end so soon, in the bowels of this dark mountain where no friend could ever come to our aid.  But then,” he added with a quiet bark of a laugh, “I suppose I do not have the same view of the matter that an immortal would have.  I suppose I have more to lose.”

            All that was light disappeared from Legolas’ face in an instant, and he regarded the speaker with an imperial sternness.  “Immortal, I may be, Lord Boromir.  And yet I am quite as capable of being slain on this journey as are you.  I ask you, then, which of us has more at stake; one who is merely postponing the inevitable, or one is risking his birthright for what he feels is a worthy cause?  These decisions are not made lightly by any of us, from these hobbits who have left their homes in an unprecedented manner, to this dwarf that travels in a far land with none of his kin as companions, and I would suggest that some of us have as much, if not more, at stake than do you.  You are traveling with us for the glory of Gondor, as is your right.  But the stakes here are far greater than the fate of one land, no matter how magnificent, and if you do not see that by now, your advice in this matter is not to be trusted.”

            The flash of anger that swept Boromir’s face was nearly instantly hidden as he smoothly responded, “No doubt you are right, Prince Legolas, for who can dispute the judgment of the Elder?  But I suppose it is in the depths of the mountains we will receive our answer, and I wonder then whose assessment will prove more accurate.  Those of us who dwell closer to these mountains than the northern reaches of Mirkwood have heard rumours of the most unsettling sort.  However, we have our wizard to lead us, so we shall follow, at least for a time.”

            Gimli shifted uncomfortably, as Boromir returned to his resting place with a certain dignity, and the rest of the watch passed in silence.

 

&&&&&

 

 

            The faint grey of early morning filtered down into the chasm, as the travelers rapidly ate a hasty meal and broke camp.  The runes of the cliff sides were now more pronounced and numerous, but both Gimli and Gandalf, now both at the head of the company, gave them only a brief glance.  “Names, naught more,” Gimli muttered dismissively, as Merry questioned him, when they took a quick pause to allow Bill to graze on an unexpected tuft or two of grass under a stunted and sere tree.

            But Legolas, who had been walking ahead, came striding quickly back, and drew Gandalf to the side.  Sam was occupied nearby, giving his pan a scrub with the riverside sand, as there had been no time to do it properly that morning, caught a word or two of their muttered interchange.  “There’s something foul there, Gandalf, and it has naught to do with dwarves,” Legolas’ expression was grim, a rare occurrence for the elf.

            Gandalf gave a weary nod.  “The Watcher,” he murmured, and Sam saw Legolas’ face perceptibly blanch.

            “There are nine of us, not to mention the pony.  How can we all possibly pass by the Watcher?”

            “Only if we take the greatest care.  But the pony, I’m afraid, would be too much at risk.  He must go back.”

            “Oh, what now, how can you say be a-sayin’ that?” Sam cried out in shock, dropping the pan and no longer pretending not to listen.

            “I’m sorry, Samwise, indeed I am, but it is for his own good,” Gandalf answered quietly but compassionately, the lines in his face etched deeper than ever in fatigue and sorrow.

            “But he’s been a good pony, Gandalf, you can’t be denying that.  He deserves better than being turned over to the wolves,” Sam’s voice caught as tears began to stream down his face, and he threw his arms about Bill as Frodo wordlessly reached his side.

            “He has been a very good pony indeed, Sam, and I have been extremely glad of his company.”  Gandalf laid a gentle hand on Bill’s back and knelt down so that his eyes were level with those of Sam.  “All the more reason to let him go back now, Sam, rather than continue with us into Moria.  Those dark and steep paths are no place for a pony.  I will give him all the protection that I can.  He knows how to find his way back to the Last Homely House, and if we are fortunate, we will find ourselves back there in time as well.  It is the best thing you can do for him, Sam, you must believe me on this.”

            Sam ducked his head down then, leaning his forehead against Bill and no longer trying to fight back the sobs that shuddered through him.  Frodo stood quietly to the side, tears beginning to run down his face as well at Sam’s grief, but allowing Sam his farewell, for there was no longer any doubt but there was no choice in the matter.

            “Now, you hurry right back, Bill, m’dearie,” Sam gulped, reaching into his pocket to find a final stunted carrot that he had been saving for the proper moment.  “Find yourself safe, m’dear, and I promise that Frodo and I will be back for you afore you know it.  And then we’ll be a-takin’ you back to the Shire, dearie, and you’ll have such a stable as a pony never had afore.  An’ we’ll never be lettin’ you go again, no, never.”  He threw his arms about Bill’s neck then, burying his face in the pony’s mane as Bill bent his head back and nuzzled him softly, chuffing quietly.

            “I will take him farther back along the path, now, Sam, and tell him where he needs to go,” Gandalf gently removed the blanket and packs from the pony, and laid a hand on his head.  With a last nudge of his head, Bill turned from Sam, and followed behind the wizard without hesitation, around the bend in the road, and was gone from sight.

            “Oh, Sam-love, you know that Bill is as clever a creature as I’ve ever seen,” Frodo said softly as he wrapped Sam in his arms and held him tightly.  “He’ll be waiting for us in Rivendell; I’ve no doubt at all about that.”

            “Indeed he will,” added Pippin, who along with Merry had been silently witnessing this scene but now threw his arms around Sam as well.  “I’ve seen many a pony, you know, but Bill was the wisest ever I saw.”

            “He’ll know the way to go,” Merry added, with a hand on Pippin’s back.  “Don’t you fear for him, Sam.”

            With a last stifled sob, Sam took a deep breath and drew himself up straight, one hand still on both Frodo’s and Pippin’s shoulders.  “T’be sure you are all right about ‘im,” he murmured, drawing a hasty hand across his face, and gratefully accepting the pocket handkerchief Merry silently offered him.  “I’ve no idea why I’m taking on so about it.  But I’ll miss him and no mistake.”

            Gandalf was soon back alone, and no more was said regarding Bill, but the company set off with both heavy packs and heavier hearts.

 

&&&&&

 

 

            The dim light was beginning to darken, and Sam was slowly awakening from his sorrow to the realization that there was apparently another night to be spent at the bottom of this dank gorge, when he suddenly noticed that the sound of the river they had been following was suddenly more pronounced.   “ ‘Tis falling from summat,” he murmured with a nod to the river, to Frodo who was walking at his side, his hand tightly clasping Sam’s.

            “I think you’re right, Sam,” Frodo responded quickly, diverted from his own silent gloom at the sound of Sam’s quiet voice.  “I don’t hear the falls, but the water is faster and the stream wider.  I suspect we are nearing the end of this path.”

            “And the beginning of what?”  Merry’s voice was tense as he dropped back, pulling Pippin with him, seeking comfort in the company of the other two hobbits.

            “I’ve no idea, save it was a path on which Bill could not follow us,” Frodo answered, his free hand tightening the cloak about himself.

            Sam thought at once of what he had overheard during Gandalf’s words with Legolas, just before the subject of Bill had come up.  ‘The Watcher’, that had been the term Legolas had used.  But somehow he did not wish to be the one to bring this matter up.  It was, nevertheless, not a comfortable name, not in the least, and he gave an involuntary shudder.

            “You are absolutely right, Sam,” declared Pippin, jutting his chin out in determination as he saw Sam’s reaction.  “More than past time to halt, I should think.  I’m sure there’ll be plenty more of this tomorrow.  No need to run ourselves into the ground.”

            “You ask, then,” Frodo gave a slight smile towards his younger cousin. 

            Pippin gave him an irrepressible grin.  “Youth has its uses, my dear Frodo,” he replied cheekily, before proceeding forward to have a word with Gandalf and Aragorn.  The conversation was not entirely clear, but its effect was, as Gandalf turned and signaled to the relieved hobbits that it was time to halt for the night.

            “It would be best to have daylight,” the wizard cryptically mentioned to Legolas, as the elf gave him a questioning glance, but none of the hobbits chose to probe that remark.

            Evening duties were handled by all the company in their by-now most efficient routine, and it was not long before dinner was over, all was tidied for the morrow, and the company was bedded for the night in its customary manner.  Gandalf had declared that there was no need to set a watch, and then had promptly disappeared, as was his wont, and as always, none had questioned his decree.

            The hobbits had paired as usual, but since it was somewhat warmer at the bottom of the gorge than it had been on the mountain path, they left a certain amount of space between themselves.  Sometimes, a bit of private conversation made all the difference.  Pippin lay under their cloaks, curled on his side in Merry’s embrace.  “Sam seemed to take it rather hard,” he murmured softly, as Merry tucked his nose in the crook of Pippin’s neck.  “I mean, I’m certainly fond of ponies, and Bill in particular, but if our path is not one for a pony, well, it makes no sense not to send Bill back.”

            “Hmm,” Merry hummed thoughtfully, burying his face further into Pippin’s curls.  “But really, Pip, you couldn’t expect Sam to give Bill up so readily.  He wasn’t just any pony to Sam, you know.”

            “That’s what I don’t understand,” Pippin rolled to his back and turned towards Merry.  The last bit of smoke from their campfire gave a tang to the sharp bite of the dark night, as he nestled closer to his cousin.  “Sam is so very practical.  You know what a shambles this whole company would be in if he had not got us all in line.”

            “Practical?”  In the faint light of the stars in the still moonless night, Pippin could see Merry’s slow smile.  “On the surface, no doubt.  But never forget, my dearest Pip, our Sam is a true dreamer.  He is the gardener’s lad who fell in love with the master on the hill and found all his dreams come true.  Of all of us, he is the hobbit who drank up Bilbo’s tales and dreamed of seeing elves.  It has not always been easy for me to admit to this, but there never was a hobbit more suited to Frodo than Samwise Gamgee.  And it does not surprise me in the least that sending Bill away is harder for him than any of the rest of us.  But now is time for us to rest, dearest.  Something dreadful will occur tomorrow; it always seems to do so these days, and I would prefer to be rested when it happens.  If you wouldn’t mind just tucking your knee in, oh, yes, that will do very nicely indeed.”  And it didn’t take more than one or possibly two more adjustments before the both of them found themselves nodding blissfully off to sleep.

            Not too many feet away, Frodo knew that Sam would not find words of any comfort, this difficult evening, but provided solace nevertheless by holding Sam closely to himself, and caressing him tenderly.  And if a few more tears fell, they did so silently, and there was no other than the pair of them to know.

 

&&&&&

 

 

            The next morning was grey, the air cold but still.  The sound of the water was definitely more pronounced now, especially as there was no other sound to blend in with it.  The entire company seemed to feel this sense of hushed readiness, and packed up in an usually quiet manner.  “Ain’t no birds in these parts, seemingly,” Sam muttered, as he helped Frodo adjust his pack.

            “I noticed that as well,” Frodo quietly replied.  “Nothing live about except ourselves, for that matter.”

            Sam nodded.  “Been trying to keep an eye out for a coney or summat, but not a bit o’it, nor any nuts nor berries.  Supplies are getting low, I don’t mind mentioning.”

            “I know,” Frodo gave him a worried glance.  “But I’m sure Gandalf and Aragorn are aware of that.  Time to tighten our belts a bit, I suppose.”

            Sam made no answer, but his meaningful glance at Frodo’s still thin form left no doubt as to his feelings on the matter.  But Frodo had already turned away to catch up with the others, and Sam followed, saying no more.

            The walls of stone had grown steeper, and the river ran deeper into the gorge.  The runes, which none of the company bothered to try to decipher anymore, were more frequent, and yet more defaced and obliterated.  Someone had been trying to leave an urgent message; there was no doubt on that score, but at this point, none of the present company wished to spend the time to puzzle it out, or acknowledge what that message might be.

            And then, as they followed the stream about a curve, they found themselves in a small valley.  The walls were sheer on all sides and a narrow torrent fell from the rocky wall before them into a black pool.  It was from this pool that the stream which they had been following ran.  And on the other side of the pool were elven characters etched high above them, into the mountainside.

            “Speak friend, and enter,” murmured Legolas, as Frodo, at his side, glanced enquiringly in his direction.

            “A common enough invocation,” Gandalf, at the head of the company, softly growled.  “There are any number of spells that might have been fixed upon this entrance.”  And indeed, as the company collected about him, the outline of a doorway in the face of the mountain could be seen on the other side of the dank pool.  Carefully skirting his way about the edges of the pool, he made his way to the other side, followed by Gimli, Legolas, and Aragorn.

            As they began speaking commands in all manner of tongues, the hobbits and Boromir found themselves on the other side of the black pool, waiting.  The stone wall seemed as impenetrable as ever, and the wan sun rose high in the sky, when Pippin finally raised a hand.  “That wasn’t a coney, now, was it?” he asked softly , and the other hobbits, as well as Boromir, listened intently, staring into the brush where Pippin had indicated.

            “Yes, I think you are right,” Boromir breathed, and quick as thought, snatched a stone from the edge of the pool and hurtled it into the brush.

            There was a rustle in the brush, and a sharp cry, but neither the hobbits nor Boromir moved for there was also a sudden bubble that rose to the previously still surface of the pool.

            “ Cry ‘friend’ indeed,” came Gandalf’s voice, with a triumphant ring, as Legolas gave the phrase in his own tongue. 

            The bubble in the pool, however, popped with a sudden burst, and before any of the onlookers could back away, a huge tentacle erupted explosively from the water and reached towards the horrified onlookers.  Unerringly, it fastened itself about Frodo’s leg, and lifting him high, began to drag him towards the murky water.

            “Frodo!” Merry gasped in horror, frozen in a state of incomprehension, but Sam cried incoherently and dashed forward, grabbing Sting, which had fallen from Frodo’s side onto the sand, as Frodo slid across the edge of the pool in the creature’s grasp.

            “Help me, help us!” Sam wailed, as he dashed into the water, slashing furiously at the creature.  Then Aragorn, who had been standing in the same shocked and frozen state as the rest of the company, burst into action as well, whipping his long sword out and running into the water to hew vehemently at the creature.  Stung into action, Boromir and Gimli also drew their sword and axe to follow suit, as Gandalf, with a mighty roar, spoke the words that tore the side of the mountain open.  Fire burst from his staff as he pointed it toward the gash that had suddenly appeared in the side of the mountain, but Merry and Pippin ran in the other direction to the pool, and without thought launched themselves at Sam, tugging both him and Frodo, still in Sam’s firm grasp, back towards safety.

            With a mighty cry, Sam flung Sting back towards the edge of the pool and wrapped both of his arms about Frodo’s chest, wrenching him from the grip of the creature, as Aragorn, Boromir, and Gimli all hacked ferociously at the beast’s arm.  Dark blood spurted from the creature, and with a hideous moan, the tentacle disappeared back into the roiling water.

            The four hobbits scrambled back to where Gandalf had been, Sam supporting a shaken Frodo and Pippin alertly snatching up Sting as he ran past it.  Gimli and the two men were right behind the hobbits as they all dashed into the rocky opening where Gandalf and Legolas were awaiting them.  But with a terrifying howl, the creature from the pool lifted another uninjured and powerful arm from the water, slamming the stone doorway closed behind them with a resounding crash.  The darkness was instantaneous.  There was no going back.  They were in Moria now.


End file.
